Secret Diary of a Call Girl
by favoroftheorchids
Summary: Robin Scherbatsky is a high-profile escort in New York. One day she meets Barney Stinson, who hires her for his friend Ted. A few weeks later, Barney hires her for himself. When Barney finds himself requesting "Robin Sparkles" more and more, and Robin looks forward to his visits more than she should, they both wonder if the impossible has happened: they fell in love. T for now.
1. Prologue - Diary Entry 1

**Hey guys! A few days ago I had to invent a random AU on Tumblr, and then it wouldn't leave me alone. So, here you go. :) Dedicated to Aleyah (stargazer-in-a-puddle on Tumblr).**

** One more thing, you may notice this has the same name as the show with Billie Piper…yeah. I've only seen one episode, but I used the name and a few lines in the beginning of this are inspired by lines in that. But that's it and I won't watch any more of it till this story is finished.**

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_Prologue_

I don't really know how to do this. My colleague got me this diary as a joke, and I've never kept a diary in my life. I never saw the point. Sorry if I mess it up—oh shit, I forgot to write "Dear Diary." See, I'm already screwing up. Oh well. Here goes. Let me tell you about today, possibly one of the weirder days of my life.

My name is Robin Charles Scherbatsky Jr. (don't ask), and the first thing you need to know about me is that I'm a whore.

I mean that literally. I'm a high-class call girl living in New York City. By the way, I don't care what name you call me; hooker, whore, prostitute, escort, call girl, it's all the same to me. Also, just in case you're wondering, I've never been addicted to anything. Well, except Angry Birds.

That's basically all you need to know about me for now. (On another note, why am I talking like I'm talking to a real person?) Oh yeah, and earlier today I was sitting in a hotel room waiting for some dude to show up, and I was bored out of my freaking _mind._

It's not like this guy knew I was there. I was a surprise birthday present from his best friend, who was gonna get him up there after the party they were having. It was taking forever. I had half a mind just to get up and leave, though I'd never actually do it.

Whatever. It wasn't like I don't get paid by the hour anyway.

God, if I'd known it gonna take that long, I would've brought something to do. My iPhone (which is my personal phone), iPod, a book, _anything_. My work phone, which I had with me, is just a stupid, tiny little Motorola that does nothing. It's about as basic as you can get and while it serves its purpose, at that moment I hated it. I pulled it out then and bored holes into it with my eyes. "Stupid," I muttered at the thing. Just then the lock on the door started to jingle and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I hastened to put the phone away and then positioned myself sexily on the bed.

I hear a man's voice protesting, "Barney, no, I—" and then someone is shoved inside the room and the door is closed. He pounded on it. "Barney! Let me out!"

"Not a chance, Ted! You need to get laid and since you seem incapable of finding a chick to do it with, I have taken the liberty of finding one for you myself and she is in there waiting and dammit, just have sex with the pretty prostitute already!"

"Hey baby," I purred, and he slowly turned to stare at me.

"Hello," the man called Ted said in a hoarse voice.

I slowly climbed off the bed as provocatively as possible, a skill I'm quite good at. I'm good at all aspects of my job. It's why I'm the favorite at Maîtresse de la Lumière's.

By this point you may be wondering how I got into this business. Well, I couldn't find anything else. I came to New York looking to be a journalist, but that career pretty much tanked, and I needed to pay the bills somehow. Now I'm kind of in too deep.

Anyway, back to tonight. Where was I? Oh yeah, I was getting provocatively off the bed. He gulped. I sidled up to him and began to take his clothes off. "Go on, do mine," I urged when he doesn't move, shrugging the strap of my lacy black see-through sheer blouse (under which is only a bra and panties), off my shoulder and led him towards the bed. I shoved him down on it. He squeezed his eyes shut and refused.

I looked at him, sized him up. _Figure out what he wants. _There had to be something. "Do you like…" I racked my brain. "What do you do?"

"I'm an architect," he whispers weakly. I try to hide my irritation. What the hell can I do with _architect_? In my moment of thinking, he took the opportunity to slip out of my grasp. "So what's your name?" he asked, flinging his arms open, desperately trying to start a conversation.

I sighed. "Robin Sparkles." I coined the name when I was thirteen. Back then I hoped it would be my stage name as a pop star. That didn't end up happening either, thank God.

"So what do you do then…Robin?" _This guy's an idiot. _I gave him a pointed look. "Right."

"Look, your friend went through all this trouble for you," I told him. By this point I was really, really starting to get sick of this Ted guy. "You might as well fuck me already." As I talk I pull of each of my very few articles of clothing, which is something I hardly ever do—certainly not myself—unless the client asks, but this seems like a special case.

He made his way to the door and bolted before I could stop him. "Well that's a first," I said to myself. I gathered up my clothes, dressed, and went home to my apartment, where I was greeted by my three dogs.

As I walked my mind raced, trying to figure out where I went wrong. I did everything I could've done for that guy (at least as much I was able to, what with him constantly running away and all), and nothing. Zip. Zilch. _Nada_.

Well, whatever. That's his problem. I'll probably never see him again anyway.

This diary thing wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.

_-Robin Scherbatsky_

_October 23, 2012_

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**So what did you think? Most of this won't be in Robin's POV, but just occasional interjection chapters as Robin's diary entries. It also probably won't be totally accurate or anything as far as prostitution or New York goes, but I'll do my best.**


	2. Chapter 1

**Sorry this took me so long; first of all I deleted everything and rewrote the whole chapter, and second of all, AP Bio is kicking my ass. Hopefully, the next chapter won't take me as long.**

**I'd also like to thank everyone who reviewed, alerted, or favorited this story. That is by far the most response I've ever had to a story for just a single chapter. I didn't I have time to get to every one, but I know I answered some of you, and just know I appreciate every single review. :)**

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Robin strolled amiably down the New York street, window-shopping a bit but mostly just surveying her surroundings and the people around her. That day she had already met with two clients—a widowed man pushing middle-aged and a slightly younger rich businessman who was on his eighth wife and hadn't been faithful to a single one. Both were loyal customers; nothing too exciting. It was her third and final client of the day she was interested in.

She'd never met him, but he was kind of infamous. He had probably hired half the escorts in the city at some point or another, yet no one knew who he was. Her "agent" had called after booking him for Robin, squealing and so excited that Robin could barely understand her and needed to hold the phone away from her ear.

Her phone rang then. Her agent. She sighed, debating whether or not to answer. Then, cautiously, she pressed answer and slowly brought the phone up, six inches away from her ear, awaiting the inevitable. Sure enough, she cringed when the voice came through, cursing herself for answering it.

"Oh my gosh, Robin, you're meeting him in forty minutes and oh my God do you need anything or want anything and is there anything I can do for you and I've got cookies waiting for you when you come back and—"

"PATRICE!" Robin hollered, causing a few passersby to stop and stare, wide-eyed. She shot them an annoyed death glare. Talking to Patrice usually put her in a foul mood. The woman was obsessed with her, and Robin couldn't stand it. She was going to ask if she could get a new agent soon, because Patrice was just too much. "Shut up!"

"But Robin—"

"No," Robin cut her off flatly. Patrice attempted speaking again, so Robin rolled her eyes and hung up. Almost immediately it began to ring again, and she ignored it. She shut it off and the calls began on her iPhone—after the third time of changing her number and Patrice finding it out anyway, she hadn't bothered to again—so she shut that down too. She could turn them both back on in a few minutes when Patrice got the message; hopefully she wouldn't get any important calls in that time.

As she walked around the park her mind wandered, ranging in subject to everything from beer to ice cream to Jennifer Aniston. She stopped to pet a puppy, an adorable little golden retriever, before it trotted away happily to chase after the nearest leaf, dragging its owner behind. If there was one thing she missed about Canada, it was the brightly colored leaves that filled the trees every year without fail before briefly dusting the ground before the heavy snows. It was nice in New York, sure, but here they only had an extremely short period of dullish color and quickly turned to brown.

She switched her phones back on—three missed calls from Patrice on each, which she promptly deleted from her call history—and then checked the time again. She should probably start heading over, she figured, and looked again at the address she had been given. It was only a few blocks away, and it was nice enough out that she decided to skip the hassle of catching a cab and just walk.

Before long she arrived at the address specified—and stood there, gaping at the building.

The Marriot.

The freaking _Marriot._

In all the time she spent in hotels, she had never even dreamed of being inside a place as classy as this. Usually there were just dumpy hole-in-the-walls; by now, there was a good chance she knew every seedy motel in New York. Now that she thought about it, she _had _found it odd that she hadn't known this address when she'd received it.

She should have expected it, really; all the other girls said this guy would always rent a room in a really nice place whenever he ordered a girl. They said a lot of other things, too, like that he always gave a fake name and usually an identity to go along with it, and it was different each time. No one knew for sure who he really was, and no one really cared.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed through the front doors of the building and headed straight for the elevator, ignoring the stares of a few probably-drunk guys and trying her hardest not to look too lost. _Cool. Confident. Fabulous but forgettable, _she reminded herself, timing the syllables to the clicks of her heels as she stepped into the elevator.

* * *

Barney Stinson fingered his glass of scotch, twirling it around and around in circles in between his thumb and index finger. It had been a relatively slow night for him—a slow few nights, actually, since apparently no hot chicks wanted to go to McLaren's that week. So far, he'd only met one girl, and at this point, he was almost ready to settle for a _six._ The only things stopping him from doing so was the fact that he hadn't stooped _that _low yet—Barney Stinson, with a six, and not for charity around the holidays? Laughable!—and the appointment with the hooker he'd set up for himself for that night. She was supposed to be good, he'd heard, so he figured he'd give her a shot. Besides, he had a new play he wanted to try out on her, which was really the only reason he hired hookers, and even then only if he couldn't get away to Ohio or some other equally lame place to do so.

He looked up as one of his best friends, Ted Mosby, slid into the booth across the table from him. "'Sup?" Ted greeted. Barney nodded offhandedly in response, taking a sip of his scotch.

Barney spotted a girl walking through the door and quickly surveyed her. Three, maybe three-and-a-half if he was feeling generous. He thrust his head in her direction silently; Ted followed his gaze. "No."

"Yes."

"No."

Barney got up and swiftly sidled over to the redheaded girl, Ted following and trying to deter him. Shaking the architect off, he poked the girl in the shoulder. "Haaaave you met Ted?" he asked, before turning on his heel and walking away, leaving Ted boring a hole in Barney's back with his eyes.

A few moments later, Ted returned to their booth. "That was _not _cool," he stated tonelessly, pointedly ignoring Barney's guffaws.

"No, dude, I really think you could've hit it off," he choked out in between laughter. At that moment, Marshall Eriksen appeared at their table, followed by his wife Lily. Ted switched over to sit next to Barney on the other side so Marshall and Lily could sit together. Marshall asked why Barney was laughing, and Ted explained in a bored voice, which only served in making Barney laugh even harder as well as raise his hand up for someone to give him a high-five.

Marshall looked at him. "Dude." Then he grinned and high-fived Barney.

Barney looked up to see the same girl coming towards their booth. "Oh yeah, did I mention I told her that my friend wanted to ask her out but was too shy to do it and she should come over in a few minutes?" Ted said in a "hey-isn't-that-crazy?" voice. Extremely proud of himself while Barney stared at him in horror, Ted took a sip of beer. Marshall high-fived Ted that time and Lily giggled.

Barney-not-so-subtlety looked at his watch. "Oh, would ya look at that, I gotta go!"

"Yeah right," Lily challenged.

"No, I really do." He got up the calendar app on his phone and shoved it in front of Lily's face; the screen read "DATE WITH HOOKER."

"She's not really a—" and Barney shrugged in response, but as soon as Lily looked away, nodded enthusiastically to Ted and Marshall, who rolled their eyes.

He all but ran out of the bar, glad he'd escaped the three. He shuddered just thinking about her.

The Marriot had been his hotel of choice this time around; she might already be there, he figured. He hailed a cab and headed on over, kind of excited at experiencing this girl who was supposed to be the favorite.

* * *

Robin ran through her mental checklist one last time. She had already taken off the tan-colored trenchcoat she had been wearing over her usual lingerie. She had slapped scentless lotion on the inside of her thighs, spritzed herself with a bit of perfume, and even brushed her hair, which she didn't normally do, but the wind she'd experienced on her way there called for it, she thought. Having found everything to her satisfaction, she was ready. Ready and waiting.

She didn't have to wait long, though; within a few minutes her client entered the room. While she was getting ready she had decided to see what other rumors surrounding this guy were true, and when he introduced himself as Barney, she knew the fake-name one was. Between the big purple dinosaur and Barney Rubble, no one would ever name their kid Barney anymore. She had also heard that he usually did elaborate schemes beforehand, and later asked how you liked them, but that didn't seem to be happening anytime soon.

"Barney" got right down to business with her, no funny business, no foreplay, no questions asked. Robin topped first, then Barney (albeit for a shorter period of time), then Robin again. He wasn't bad, she gave him that. And it was nice to sleep with a guy relatively close in age to her for once, too.

They lay there for a few minutes, neither saying anything, and then Barney got up and began putting his clothes back on. That, too, fit with hearsay, she noted; him leaving right after. She dressed herself, then they agreed to leave at different times—Barney first, and then Robin a bit later, so as not to arouse any suspicion.

After she left, she thought of the one thing she hadn't thought of before, the last rumor she knew about "Barney." This one she knew for sure was a fact.

He never saw the same girl twice.

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**Well, their first meeting is kind of a letdown, probably, but I couldn't get any dialogue to fit into there, and I really wanted to get this chapter out to you guys. Don't worry, there'll be better sex scenes later, and at least one **_**major **_**one.**

** And to any New York readers who may be out there, sorry if I got anything wrong; the last time I was in New York was when I was five. The thing about the leaves is what I've always heard, though.**

**Oh yeah, and if you want to follow me on Tumblr, I'm inherbrilliantshinyworld**


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